


idk what to call this but here it is ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

by justjoshinya



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Never - Freeform, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, also its hella ooc, i feel like im forgetting to tag something, i may or may not have only written this to vent fhdbsfenfk, this is rlly bad, when will i stop projecting onto fictional characters, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 22:18:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16228436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justjoshinya/pseuds/justjoshinya
Summary: gavin is salty at life bc so am i so yea idk





	idk what to call this but here it is ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

**Author's Note:**

> henlo i hope u like my crappy vent fic

Blood dripping onto the cold tile of the bathroom floor was a sight Gavin had seen too many times to bother keeping track of. It became comforting, in a fucked up kind of way. 

It made him feel in control. Even if that control was only over how, when and where he was gonna slice up his skin the next time. 

He was sure someone knew, even if they never pointed it out. He'd been doing it too long for no one to catch on. 

Nobody ever said anything about it, but that god awful look of pity and disgust people got on their face when they found out made him feel like throwing up.

God, that all too familiar look pissed him off. 

If he was being fair though, the majority of things pissed him off. Which, in itself, pissed him off even more.

Gavin could clearly recall a time when Fowler was nagging his ear off for the umpteenth time and his jacket sleeve rolled up ever so slightly, causing his array of self-inflicted wounds to be visible. That was a fun day. 

Ah yes, sarcasm. 

That day had been anxiety-inducing and made Gavin feel on edge till he got home. For the sole reason that maybe Fowler might make a big fuss of Gavin's scars. 

Yeah, not a fun day.

There were countless days like that. Days where someone caught a glance of his arms or on the rare occasion, his thighs. Days where the weeks following he could hear the pity in their voices and see it in their faces.

Days that just didn't fucking help his mental state one bit.

The things that actually helped his mental state were… less than healthy, which was putting it lightly.

Honestly, the things that ‘helped’ served more as just temporary distractions, then turned into longer-lasting pain. So actually, nothing really helped. At least not in the long run.

It only made him spiral further into more and more fucking pain. 

The pain felt good, yet horrible. Gavin had a weird love-hate relationship with it. Usually, when he was the one causing it, it was fine by him. Though sometimes, it just made him feel shittier. 

He felt like he was stuck in a battle against himself and he couldn't win or lose, but somehow, he was doing both simultaneously. 

He loved the pain and would always want to cause more of it, but it fucking hurt, obviously. 

There have been so many times he'd lost his temper just a bit too much and would end up slashing his thighs up till it hurt to even walk. That always made him feel oddly proud. 

He'd get mad at himself if he didn't cut deep enough. Or if he could still walk fine and pain-free. It was a weird feeling, if he didn't cut enough to cause him to walk with a slight limp due to pain, he'd deem himself a failure. 

Gavin felt like he'd been crying for help for so long. But nobody could hear.

Maybe they didn't hear, maybe they did but they just didn't care. Gavin didn't have a clue.

Gavin’s mind, being as kind as it was, made him assume nobody gave a shit. Which, in all honesty, was probably the case. 

He couldn't imagine someone actually caring about him. Not even if he actually had the energy to try.

He hardly even had the energy to get out of bed most days. Hell, some days the only thing stopping him from cutting was his lack of energy. 

He just felt so tired all the fucking time. 

He hated it. 

He hated how tired he felt even after getting a decent amount of sleep. He hated how he always felt numb yet overrun by emotions. 

He hated all of it.

Most of all, though, he hated himself. What he saw in the mirror never felt good enough. The sight of his own body made him feel sick. He didn't feel right, no matter what he tried to do to fix it. 

It never worked.

Nothing ever fucking worked.

Maybe nothing would have to if he summed up the guts slice his wrists a little deeper than usual. Or down whatever pills he could find in the cabinet. Or maybe even find a high bridge somewhere and let himself fall.

That would be nice, wouldn't it?

Too bad he was too scared. He didn't even know why he was scared. Why was he so afraid to die when his life hardly even mattered?

Fuck if he knew.

Fuck if he'd ever even had the slightest idea.

Just… fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for readin fam also sorry the ending succs i cant finish shit for the life of me


End file.
